


Incubus Be Damned

by flinchflower



Series: The 50kinkyways [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 2: crossdressing. Do you need more than the prompt title? Nothing sexier than some Winchester feelings, and a gay bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incubus Be Damned

**Author's Note:**

> I borrowed the characters originally so I could use them as a writing exercise, to see how close I could get the characterization. Then I was corrupted by porn. Here lies porn.This is simply for practice, not publication or profit. I’m in the hole by about 30 grand, if you’d like to seize my debt as punishment. Written 2007.

**  
Incubus Be Damned   
**

 

“Toss me for recon in the club the victims are being taken from.”

“Whatever.”

“Call it,” demands Sam, and tosses a coin at his brother. Dean must not have looked closely at the club, just across the street, when they checked in. This could be amusing  
.  
“Heads,” says Dean, and slaps the coin down. He shrugs. “Could be worse things than an evening with the ladies,” he says, knowing it will aggravate his brother.

“Like you had anything planned. I’ll be back. Do the binding next door.”

“Where –“ Dean’s question dies out, looking at the open door. And fuck, the little shit took the laptop with him. Dean sighed, and applied himself to picking the lock on the connecting door. They were parked in the motel room next to where the incubus would take its victims, something John had never done, but Sam had discovered made it far simpler to explain to any authorities why they were involved in the eventual fray. All they needed to do was wait, and keep an eye out the window for its return. It would be trapped by the containment symbols that Dean had placed under the motel bed and on the ceiling.

While he’s out, Sam does a little shopping, barely containing his glee. Dean’s asleep on one of the beds when he gets back – late, because he didn’t dare take those bags inside before it was time.

“Wake up.”

“Fuck off.”

“You need to get ready for the club, dude.”

Dean rolls over. “I suppose it will take a while- what the fuck is that?”

“Got you a little something to wear, Dena.” Dean lunges for his younger brother, who clearly is in need of a little discipline. He misses, though, and Sam continues. “You didn’t even ask a single question, so you don’t get to argue now. The club, darling, is a gay bar.”

“Shit,” comes the eloquent reply.

“And the victims are usually dressed similarly.”

“Oh?” Sam tosses a skirt at him, and dangles a pair of – fuck, those are nice boots – a part of Dean thinks, before the revulsion over the spiked heels overtakes him.

“You’re going, not me, Sam.”

“HAH. No dice, bitch, you backed out last time and you so owe me. Did you want me to call Dad?”

“Call Dad?” Dean is a little baffled.

“Think a little harder, bro – unless senility is getting to be an issue? You don’t recall the lecture Dad read you last week about keeping your word when you pulled the same bullshit on him?”

“And you don’t recall the lecture on tattletales,” comes the accusation, reaching out for Sam again, this time getting a hold of him. He’s about to pound the daylights out of his baby brother when the door to the motel room opens and they’re both reaching for their weapons.

“Boys,” John Winchester says, with an eyebrow raised. He boots the door closed behind him. “I thought we were going to share the leads with one another, boys, to avoid having two of us jump on a job at the same time.” He watches as Dean tries to back away from his little brother, quite aware that Sam has his hand fisted in the loose material of Dean’s bluejeans, by a rather sensitive area. Every time Dean shifts, Sam twists his hand, enhancing the already priceless look on Dean’s face, and John is having a hard time keeping a straight face, because there’s a couple of scoldings that need to happen in the next five minutes if they’re going to be effective.

“Dad, you mentioned this one to us last week, said you didn’t think you’d have time to get to it. Besides,” Sam chokes on the words, “I think this one’s suited better to sex on wheels, here.”

Damn, the boy is right. He had mentioned it. “What makes you think that, son?” He watches his boys, and Dean’s eyes slide inadvertently to the bed. John’s follow, and he gets an eyeful of the clothing that looks to be about Dean’s size.

“Incubus is hunting in a gay bar.” John winces at Sam’s reply. There’s some places that he just doesn’t fit in, and Sam’s just named one of them.

“I see,” he says gruffly, and decides to move on. “And why is it, Sam, that your brother and you are rolling around on the floor like a pair of six year olds?”

“Dean here decided he’d back out of the coin toss.” The beatific smile on Sam’s face was killing him. He’d wipe it off his face later, after Dean went out.

“Ah.” John stepped forward and got a fistful of Dean’s shirt and lifted. Sam had the good sense to let go of his brother’s jeans. Dean squeaked as John turned him around roughly. “Keep in the background and observe tonight, Dean, call when it steps out with its target, and for the love of Christ keep a rein on your mouth.” Dean’s eyes were wide, and John scooped up the clothing with his free hand, and smacked it against Dean’s chest. “Now you’ll want to get changed, it’s near twenty one hundred hours." John rummaged in the drugstore bag, wondering if Sam… of course. His younger boy was nothing if thorough.

Dean slunk off into the bathroom. Sam seated himself on the bed, rubbing at the back of his head, watching John warily.

“You mind bringing my duffel in, Sam?”

Sam took the out his father offered him, though he felt faintly worried. That might mean that John was going to hand out a lecture after Dean had gone. Both men were in the bathroom when he came back in, and he fought down a faint feeling of jealousy. The drugstore bag was gone from the bed too – he’d wanted to see that. Then again, given the amount of cussing that was going on, and the sounds of a couple of John Winchester’s thorough swats to Dean’s backside, he’d rather be out here. He pulled the laptop to him, making sure he’d covered all the contingencies. The bathroom door opened, and it seemed to Sam that John looked pretty satisfied. Then Dean emerged, and Sam fought down an uncomfortable surge of arousal.

Sam didn’t say a thing, just let out a loud wolf-whistle. Dean lunged at him. John swatted his backside again, and frog marched him to the door.

“Straight across the street, call us to keep us in the loop, don’t do anything stupid. Maybe it’ll teach you a lesson.” He closed the door behind his son, watched through the slider window in the door until the bar door closed behind Dean. Then he turned around and the laughter started. John sank down the door, wiping tears from his eyes. Sam put the laptop aside on the table, and sat crosslegged on the bed, smirking contentedly. When John could breathe again, he looked at his youngest child, well, not a child at 23, but still.

“Thought you’d be laughing too.”

“I’ll be laughing for a long, long, time dad.” He reaches over, switches on the little printer, and taps a button on the computer. John watches as the boy trims out two squares, about 2 inches by three. Sam crumples the scraps, and John takes a seat next to him. Sam’s pulling out his wallet, and into it he tucks one of the papers. The other one he hands to John.

It’s his boy, the hunter who he trained in stealth, weaponry, acting, and disguise. This one’s a little different, though. Dean’s coming out of the bathroom, looking sullen and pouty – Sam must have caught it with the webcam on the laptop – dressed in a white blouse, black leather skirt and matching boots, complete with eyeliner and fishnets. John pulls out his own wallet. Yeah, this one’s a keeper.


End file.
